Imperium
by Karasai
Summary: A Chapter shrouded in mystery. An Imperial Guard Regiment struggling to survive. A Chaos Lord seeking glorious combat. An Eldar Farseer seeking to change the fate of her people. Many have come to this system, but none will be able to change the fate which looms over their heads. Will they have the strength to survive? Or become drowned in the eternal chaos that is war.
**Imperium**

 _Look not to thy brother for aid, but within. For one must trust themselves before they may place trust in brothers._ \- Unknown.

 **Mirel IV – Segmentum Ultima**

The flashes sounds of battle surrounded hulking forms which rushed to defend against attacks far too innumerable to count. The dull roar of millions cried out in heretical reverence as the final strike descended upon this fearless garrison. Among the brave mortal men and women of the Imperium stood only but a few of the Adeptus Astartes. Only enough to stem the tide for so long, for here, on this nameless world, was a losing battle.

The hulking forms of Imperial Armor reversed through the streets as the flashes of their cannons and small-arms fire illuminated their steel gray forms. The flashes of lasgun and bolt-pistol illuminated what brave few stood against the tide. Among this retreating force stood only four of the Emperor's Angels of Death. Their great strides keeping pace with the men and women of the Imperium, while yet another volley of warp-fire streaked through the air.

The fire itself consumed many guardsmen upon colliding onto the ground, its reach spreading farther than any would have thought. Yet once more, it receded as if called back to it's owner. A foul sorcerer who bore the markings of not only Tzeench, but also of the traitorous thousand sons. It was a hard pressed battle as both daemon and traitor-astartes pushed forward once again. Their numbers surged with both daemon and fallen guardsmen. Consumed by the insanity of the warp and redirected to serve a darker purpose. They struck at the Imperium's forces once more, and once again they sought to claim more of the Loyalist Astartes.

One of the Astartes roared in defiance "Foul creatures of the warp, begone!"

Fire explodes from his weapon, a great torrent of flame descends upon the entirety of the avenue as heretic and daemon feel it's rage. Amid the stream of flame, the weapon is illuminated. The barrel is adorned with a dragon's head, sporting blackened teeth. The Astartes himself is large, towering over his brothers while he holds his ground. While they continue to lay down covering fire for the Imperials that now retreat.

One of the Brother-Marines speaks through the vox. "Brother Kharak, we must keep with the guard lest we lose you as well!"

A simplistic grunt is all he offers as the Astartes cuts his stream of promethium and pivots on his foot. He turns his back on the enemy he so hates as yet another torrent of warp-fire is sent towards their forms. It is now that the three other marines retreat, moving as quickly as they are able, down the avenue to catch with the Imperials.

It is a long night with no end in sight. Though unknown to these Astartes, a small number fighting as best they are able to protect humanity, there approaches a new ally. One which will be welcome in the coming days.

Brother-Kharak continues down the avenue until he sees the hulking forms of three Leman Russ tanks, firing into the oncoming horde behind he and his brothers. They are turning and retreating to the palace exterior where the remainder of the Guardsmen remain. The Astartes has long since extinguished the flame of his weapon and has pried his bolter free from it's resting place. Much like the weapon before, it's surface is etched with designs befitting of he and his chapter. The Salamanders.

His form, and the form of his brothers are illuminated once more by cannon fire as the advancing horde surges towards their retreating form. The guardsmen yell out as their voices become mute in the thunderous storm. It is the artillery strike which was to come. A hail of explosive shells descend upon the force before them. Soon the heretical forces disappear amid the smoke, fire and ruin as the Imperials ruin the city they sought to protect. Among the Astartes, there is no talk. They do not seek cover. They merely watch in an almost cold contempt as they wait until the dust settles. Their eyes peering through their helms as if expectant for the sorcerer to still draw breath. It is then that they hear their answer.

It is a sickening whisper on the wind. A poisonous sound which sickens all who hear it. "You think that I have been bested?"

Dread fills the hearts of many as a multicolored bolt streaks from the thick smoke, igniting the very air in an unnatural fire. The bolt collides into the very building which rests behind the four Astartes. One of the Salamanders shouts out in defiance as he curses the existence of the Sorcerer they face. Yet as he yells out, another streak of warp-energy lances out and strikes the ground he stands upon, sending the Astartes off of his ground. Kharak and his brothers do not stand and wait, for they run forward to meet this foe in combat. With his Daemons waylaid and exterminated, he is alone. A singular Chaos Lord which held great need to be exterminated. As the Guardsmen attempted to reform and re-establish their lines of defense, these three Astartes engage an enemy in which they hold no hopes in defeating. Yet still, they rushed forward knowing what they protected. With a brilliant flash, they were all consumed in the light which burst from the Immaterium itself. Soon, Kharak, himself was consumed by the very light he fought against.

They had lost. He had woken up.

It was a shock to him to open his eyes and gaze upon the endless skies of nothingness. It was a grim greeting in which he felt fear towards. A confusing notion. Regardless, he forces himself onto his feet once more. His hulking form is slow and cumbersome for his kind, but it is not clumsy. He is large for an Astartes, larger than most. He had dreamed that he was once again he fought alongside Kharak's side. An old friend, a memory of the night that he had endured a great enemy. However, the memories of that night soon flooded into his waking mind.

Kharak was dead. He was among the only ones to survive that battle.

The Eldar had intervened at but the last moment, having been shielded by a Witch's powers. Though he could not recall the reasoning. Only that she bore the markings and colors of Craftworld Ulthwé, only that she was without helm. Only that she had cast him an expression of pity, or what he had come to believe as pity. Yet, for all of the struggle that took place upon that world, he knew that few things were to come out from his efforts. He had fought alongside the Salamanders. He had fought along side them as a member of Deathwatch. As a member of the Ordo Xenos, now no longer.

He recalled the details of his purpose there, os his reason to be there. He recalled how Kharak looked, how young the fiery Devastator was during combat. His friend. Among the many in which he could not save. Proof that he was not the Apothecary in which his Chapter had believed him to be. Proof that he was a failure of an Astartes. For long has this Apothecary dealt with his guilt for ignorance. Long has he felt the losses of those who died alongside him and under his care.

It was as if she, that Eldar Witch had peered into his very mind. Into his very immortal soul. As if she had seen the very future which was to be cast before him. As he thought on this memory, his attention was slowly shifting towards what dim lighting greeted his vision. He had been stirred from sleep through the gentle urges of a woman adorned in the battle-plate belonging to that of an Imperial Guardsmen.

She speaks once more, her voice hushed and barely a whisper. "My Lord."

The Apothecary roused himself from his tired state, his vision adjusting almost immediately as he recalled his wish to be woken. Quickly he swiveled from his 'bed' and took to his feet in a fluid motion fitting of his kind. Towering over the Guardsman, he nodded to her as the task she had taken on had been completed. He speaks, his voice calm and level despite his rousal from slumber. "You have done your task, Guardsman, see to your fellows."

The Guardsman nodded quietly before stepping back as military protocol had been drilled into her. She offered a salute and removed herself from the presence of the Astartes-Apothecary. The aged Astartes moves towards his plate, adorning himself without the aid of the servitors in which his fellows had harrassed him to take with. The Apothecary held disdain for such things, people rendered useless and incapable of performing even the most basic of human function. Thought. It troubled the Apothecary to a degree, but he understood the perverse necessity of it. As he soon finished adorning himself with what he could, he turned to the servitors provided to him to finish the job. The process was painfully slow, considering the dissuse these things had fallen into. One of them struggled to even lift his pauldron properly! Huffing with irritation, he steps away from the Servitors and nearly steps out of his abode before turning on his heel and snatching his helm from the servitor which still held it.

Placing it upon his head, he studied the servitor for but a moment and mumbled under his breath. " _Shut up_."

It isn't soon after that the Apothecary is greeted by the violent storm of war. As he steps from his quarters, he is greeted by the creeping scent of mass death and smoke. His very bones are rattled by the cacaphony of Imperial Artillery, as well as the distant shoughts of the Waaaagh! Which lay ahead of their positions. It is an affront to mankind in his own opinion, having fought the Ork menace countless times in the past when he was but a mere battle-brother. Even now, and even during his time with Death Watch, he had fought against the green menace. As his thoughts twisted and turned, he observed the ruined fortress-city that stretched before him. The towering collumns of smoke and mosiac of destruction which now stained a once beautiful sight. He unleashes a sigh until he hears the cheerful voice of someone he could not rid himself of.

It was a young voice, belonging to one of the Guardsmen. The woman who had stirred him from rest. "My Lord, we will be moving along shortly."

Within his helm, he visibly cringed, thankful that his face was not visible while he directed his gaze towards the young Guardswoman. His eyes studied her for a moment before offering a nod of affirmation. "So it would seem, Guardsman."

"I still cannot believe that the Emperor's Angels have come to fight along side us!" She replied with a certain note of glee. The Apothecary could not fault her for that. "It is a blessing that you and you're comrades are here. The advances through the city have been eased, for certain. I feel that there is hope to be found."

He nods again, thankful that his frown is hidden from the world. He did not fault the guardswoman for her attitude. It's just that he was always in a poor mood upon rising from slumber. Even as a mere boy, he had not enjoyed waking up at the crack of dawn. "It would seem that the Venerable Sarrun has been enjoying this latest battle."

The Apothecary looks away from the guardswoman for but a moment, and turns his gaze towards the atrocious sight of battle. He has spoken of the Dreadnought which they have left in his care for Emperor knows why. He knew not why the Dreadnought had been roused from slumber, for they had not needed him. Regardless, the Captain had seen fit to place the Dreadnought under his own command as well. A decision which he found... questionable.

The cheer soon came back, chiming in like the shouts of insults spewed forth by a chaos warband. "Indeed! The Venerable Sarrun has regaled us with many tales of his time alongside you!"

"Has he..." Came the obvious supply. "I may regret asking, but pray tell, what has he spoken of?"

She answers his question keenly. "He has spoken of the many battles you fought alongside him as a brother!"

Silently, the Apothecary shakes his head out of disapproval and issues another emotionally laiden sigh. He steps from the Guardswoman and walks towards where he had left his weaponry. A mere bolter and a weathered chainsword. A weapon having seen nearly every single battlefield he had been on since his induction into the ranks of Apothecary. It isn't soon after he is equipped that he begins his journey to the front lines where the Orks would be the strongest, knowing quite well that the... Guardswoman was following in tow. Another sigh.

 _Must she follow me wherever I go_? He thinks to himself, keeping most of his thoughts to himself. "Do you not have a post to return to?"

"I was assigned to you a week ago, my lord." She replies almost immediately. "Do you not recall your meeting the Comissar and Lord-General?"

 _Yes. I recall it and I loathe it's memory_. Still he offers the reply, one that he knew she was far too versed on. "I remember it now. Though you must stay out of trouble, young Vanessa. It would not do my conscience well should you become injured."

She laughed. There it was. **The dreaded laugh.** He would have groaned offensively loud had he not the sense to avoid insulting to the young Guardswoman. Comparitively to his Brother-Marines, he was far more approachable due to the mere fact that he was willing to... banter with the Guardsmen and others. This was not to say that he was estatic about interacting with them, it was just that he was often used to improve relations wherever improving was to be desired.

 _Oh, that's right. The Captain called me their medical diplomat._

The two proceeded through the battlements in which they had made camp for the time being. A short distance away from the main commandpost, but it was also not distant from the front lines within the walls. The thunderous cacophony of artillery was proof that the lines had moved back enough to be used. Thankfully, they had stemmed the tide of the damnable Greenskins for the time being. The Imperial Guard's efforts were well rewarded while his Chapter's progress had left much to be desired. It had been five days since he had last heard from his Battle-Captain. Left only with the Venerable Dreadnought and handfull of Brother-Marines to aid the Guardsmen in whatever small capacity they could.

It wasn't long before a voice called out to him. Mechanical and weathered. "Apothecary. Jainus."

His gaze had turned from horizon and shifted over what form stood only a distance away. It was an immense, hulking form which belonged to Sarrun, the Dreadnought. The surface of his battle-plate was scorched white, black and brass coloring. It's form was almost devilish as it's surface was marred with the scarring of his most recent ventures into battle. Gouges of metal, cratered impacts and even several Ork Choppas embedded into the armor plating which covered his legs. Still, what troubled the Apothecary was the appearance of Sarrun's assault-cannon.

"Sarrun! What has happened to your armament?!"

The Dreadnought steps forward, almost in an angry display, causing the young mortal among them to jump in surprise. He speaks, his voice tinged with frustration. "It was. Destroyed."

Jainus scoffed at the reply almost immediately. "I can see that for myself Sarrun! We do not have the means to repair it!"

Sarrun closed his power fist in a physical display of anger, shortly before releasing the groaning metal appendages grip. The Dreadnought then made yet one more step, and then another. Smoke belches out of his exhaust as if to display his irritation with Jainus. Regardless, he moves past the Apothecary and the Guardsmen and points his one good appendage towards the battle ahead.

"We are. Needed in the fires. Of war." He states simply, his hulking form bellowing out four towering lances of flame. His ire apparent. His want for bloodshed and vengeance visible. "Will not. Stay my hand."

Jainus merely nodded as he turned his gaze to the Guardsman that accompanied them. He knew that she was but a mere equerry for the moment, but he cared little for that. She possessed a lasrifle on her person and from his own eyes, he could tell she was seasoned. It was hidden beneath the guise, but she was a trained and experienced fighter. Jainus then shifts his gaze towards where Sarrun had gestured. His trained eyes could see it. The flashes of bolt fire and tracers. The faint lances of lasrifle and lascannon. He could almost smell the stench of war upon them.

He turns to the mortal woman. "To war, Guardsman Vanae."

"To war." She replies without hesitation. "To honor his will, Lord-Astartes."

It is not soon after that Sarrun unleashes another towering plume of flame. The heat washing over both of them while he shifts his tremendous weight and impacts his first step towards their fated battle. With the next, he lurches forward with even more, fearsome force. It is terrifying to watch.

It is not soon after that both Vanae and Jainus take to Sarrun's example and run, though the Apothecary keeps pace with the mortal as to not leave her without 'protection'. He knew quite well that the Guard was capable of combat, despite their weaker forms. He had seen much performed by mortal hands without the intervention of _His Angels of Death_. They were not to be coddled, for they too bled on the same field of battle. To war, they had said. To war they now headed.

* * *

"Bring the fiend down!"

Guardsmen rush down one of the myriad streets of the fortress-city, bringing their lasrifles to bear as they struck against the Greenskin which was now locked in battle with yet another Astartes. Their forms had locked their weapons together as the Astartes chainsword screamed against the resistance it faced. The Ork which he now locked weapons with had easily matched his strength and was now overpowering the Astartes. A feat not often done, but it seemed that the Guardsmen who had rushed forward were sapping it's unnatural strength. The Ork delivered a kick, knocking the Astartes off of his ground, sending him to the very floor.

"Wot, Ye gits wont sum too?!" The towering creature shouts as he throws his Choppa at one of the closest guardsmen, killing him instantly. "WAAAAAAGH!"

The Guardsmen begun to fold until another's voice bellowed over the chaos of war. "Bring the fiend down, men! Do not cower before this brainless beast!"

The beastly Ork was about to add some retort while he bolted towards his thrown Choppa before the form of the Astartes had slammed into his form from behind. Having forgotten the Space Marine, he let out a howling yell as he crashed onto the ground. As the beast tried to recover, one of the guardsmen had rushed forward as the beast rushed. He had primed a grenade and shoved it into the tooth laiden mouth shortly before falling off of the beast's form. The Ork had already gotten his Choppa and had almost carved into the offender when the grenade went off, blowing his body apart.

The Astartes who had shoulder checked the Ork was soon on his feet again as he turned his gaze towards the opposite. Ignoring the blood shower which now coated both him and the Guardsmen. "Steel yourselves once more. They come once more!"

"Is that fear I hear, Kiren?" Came another voice distorted by the helm of yet another Astartes. This one had climbed atop one of the piles of rubble along with another Astartes. "I thought I told you not to rush forward."

"Tch." Came an almost trained responce. "I fear nothing, old man."

The third Astartes merely shook his head as he leaped from their perch and landed firmly next to Kiren, and slammed a bolter onto his chest. "You lost this."

Kiren had not the moment to retort as the Ork surge was upon them. Kiren had noticed the 'Old Man' had opened fire already. Directing his gaze towards the approaching horde, he noticed that his heavy bolter had already begun tearing into the green tide. He took amoment more before the third Astartes had already begun to move towards a patch of cover. "Come young Kiren! Do not be a fool and stand in the open!"

Kiren did not take kindly to the veteran's words. They stung and reminded him that he was still new upon the field of battle. He was untested and this was but his first battle and it was to be fought away from the Captain. Beforehand, he had lamented the fact that he was ultimately under the command of the Apothecary Jainus, knowing that he would not be mounting the Captains offensive. He had no taste nor love for defense. Regardless, he took to his task as any Astartes would. Kiren did not tarry much longer as the typical storm of ork fire had come raining down. Ducking down as he avoided the ungainly size of the rounds which rained down, he moved towards the veteran who had called him over.

He rested his back against the cover as the sound of lasgun, heavy bolter and boltgun filled his hearing. It wasn't until the aged veteran's voice crackled through the vox that he begun shooting from his patch of cover. "You needn't worry about me, Tyr. I can fight on my own."

"No you cannot, boy." Came an almost unexpected response as he was pulled from his position and shoved down onto the ground. The young Astartes struggled as he attempted to push away from Tyr, but to no avail. He had him pinned firmly to the ground during a firefight! Tyr then imparted his wisdom. "We survive through fighting together, never alone. Alone you are _weak_ and together we are strong."

Kiren struggled once more as he snapped at the veteran who had pinned him. "I get it _Old Man_."

For a moment, he had thought Tyr would have hit him out of outrage, but instead he let Kiren go without another word and returned his attention to the battle at hand. Having raised his boltgun with little more to say other than unleash his fury against the green menace which now threatened to overrun their position. Kiren had also eventually committed to the very same, having only a hurt ego from the short exchange. He had been so big headed last night and for it, he had been reprimanded by not only Tyr but also that aging Apothecary. He felt the constant need to prove himself to these aging veterans that he was good enough to fill their role better than they. Of course both Tyr and Jainus had merely offered the explanation that he was simply _young and stupid_. The honor of finally being removed from his scout company and placed into this powered armor was the proudest moment of his life. These Veterans simply made him out to be a fool.

He hated them for it.

The defense which was at hand however, was something to behold as not only the Imperial Guardsman but also a small force of Astartes now held back one of the breaches within the outer walls. They had little choice but to hold where they were while the heavy armor begun to move up. The familiar cracks of the Leman Russ's cannon fire as well as wall of bolt-fire which now made its way into the moving tide. Death filled their ears. Glorious death which deafened all other things. Yet even as the wave died down, there was little more to do than to prepare for the inevitable wave.

Though as soon as the violence subsided, Tyr had already stepped away from Kiren and made his way over to the Lieutenant which presided over the current numbers of the Guardsman. His heavy steps were apparent in the sudden silence while the echoes of artillery still shouted in the distance. The proverbial dust was finally settling as Tyr's form had become more apparent to see. His armor was adorned with a bone white coloring that faded towards his gauntlets and greaves. A crimson cloak however, was draped over his right shoulder, hiding his arm at rest. The gentle breeze only tugged at the cloth which hung from his waist as well. The battle-plate itself was decorated with horrific scarring from the battles having fought only for the past five days. His helm was already off, exposing a darkened face stained by old wounds.

"Lord Astartes." Begun the Lieutenant, as he offered a nod while some of the guardsmen had been tempted to bow before them. "We tha-"

"Do not thank us, Guardsman." Tyr stated, almost in a harsh tone. He turned his gaze towards the hole in which they were to watch. "The past five days have been hard fought and yet we find ourselves beset by Greenskins still within the city."

The Devastator had also begun to remove himself from his perch upon the rubble. His foot falls were both skillful and heavy as he descended the ruins of a housing building. "Do not be so rude to the Guardsmen, Tyr, they mean to thank us."

"Yes, they mean to thank us." Chimed in Kiren, supporting the devastator's words, though the look which Tyr had shot him only moments after was nothing close to benevolent.

Tyr shifted his footing and looked towards the young and newly annointed battle-brother. To the Devastator it was clear that he was not amused and the boy was looking for a fight. Moving quickly, he released one hand from his weapon and pressed his hand against the armored chest of Tyr's form.

"Do not press this further, not until Jainus arrives." He speaks quietly.

Tyr looks to the Devastator for but a moment more before he offers a bitter and angry response. "He will get us slain Galen."

Galen, the Devastator which had accompanied them was also a veteran as his armor was adorned with but the same. Though his armor held but a mere heraldry shield which had displayed the name of his recruited world. A display of pride that few of his chapter dare show. Galen simply shook his head as Tyr pushed away from him forcefully, causing the Astartes to step back while he fixed his gaze towards the Lieutenant in which Tyr had shared some words with. He studied the man for but a moment. He was weathered, while some of his men were new to battle. He had also caught sight of the man who had savagely charged into the fray to slay the Ork from before. He only nodded towards the man, as a sign of unspoken thanks for aiding young Kiren. He soon returned his gaze towards the Lieutenant, who was only faced with the obsidian colored helm with it's threatening gaze staring back at him.

"Do not fret. He is a tired old man."

The Lieutenant had nearly laughed at the statement itself, though he felt a gentle pulse of fear had he done so. Perhaps they would have taken such as an insult. He knew not how to speak with such titans of war. An amusing thought in and of itself. Regardless, he pushed the thought aside and replied to the titan before him. "I see. Still, I must thank you. Lord-Kiren was most helpful in his efforts. I dare say he saved me and my men."

 _Wonderful._ thought Galen. _Stroke the kid's ego why don't you_.

"That is a generous assumption, Lieutenant." Galen replied, casting his gaze towards the very reason as to why they were even here in the first place. "Though I feel our youngest has placed us in a more difficult situation."

Galen had gestured towards the gaping hole in the thick, defensive wall which sat before him. The Lieutenant took several moments before reciting a rather comical 'Oh' at the realization. Though it hadn't helped that whatever fool inside the command center had thought it prudent to ignore the fact that there was an obvious breach in defense. The Devastator took a moment to stray away from the Liuetenant and make some general observations of his own. Though, he would do so in the company of young Kiren. The aged Devastator had gestured towards the young Marine before him to follow him as they moved away from the concentrated force, leaving Tyr behind for the moment.

"Kiren, why do you try so hard?"

The Young Astartes looked to the Devastator for a moment as he was about to answer swiftly before he caught himself. He earnestly thought on the question as he attempted to voice multiple attempts at answering. It wasn't long before he finally provided an answer, though it was one that must have been unsatisfactory. "I do not know... _Brother_."

The Devastator brought his hand into Kiren's helmed head and hit him quite forcefully. It was enough to nearly knock the Astartes off of his feet alone. " **Wrong answer**."

"I do not know what you wish of me to say!" He shouts back at the older Astartes, he tears his helm from his head and throws it into the ground in a display of anger. "Do you wish for me to tell you that I am a fool?! That you are correct?! Is it not our way to save as many as we can?!"

"You understand and yet you do not." Galen answered simply as hefted his heavy Bolter and knelt to pick up Kiren's helm. He pried it from the ground and studied it for a moment. Every scratch upon the surface of the ceramite armor was a statement. Every gouge in the armor was a tale. Yet, Kiren's armor was bare. It was unbloodied. "It is our way, Kiren. However we must be alive to save people, not dead. For that we must rely on ou-"

"Our brothers." Kiren answered, his face turning away from the helmed Devastator.

Galen sighs once more. "Tyr bears no ill will against you."

"Tch." Came the tyical and expected response. "He seems to slight me at every turn! He makes me into a fool!"

Galen lifted himself off of the ground and offered the helm to the young Astartes before him. "He does it so you might stop your antics."

"So I might what?!" Kiren replies in an almost incredulous shout. He steps towards Galen, snatching the helmet from his hand in an almost petulant display. "I may be many things to you and Tyr, but I am no child!"

Galen allowed the Astartes this moment of outrage as he shifted his footing and watched him take the first step away. That was when Galen moved and pulled him off of his feet like a toy. Comparing to most of his battle-brothers, Galen was strong. He was beyond strong. He was freakishly powerful as his stature was large enough to warrant a larger suit of armor than his brothers. Still, he tossed Kiren onto the floor and brought down his foot like a great hammer, impacting with a loud clang, catching the attentions of those nearby. The Devastator towered over Kiren, almost as if he were to take the young Astartes head right off with his other foot.

"Do not tempt me to beat you into the ground, Kiren." Galen warned him, his tone having grown far more menacing than he had usually spoken with. Gone was it's jovial nature and it's often joking manner. A frightening atmosphere begun to shroud both he and Kiren as the boy came face to face with a hardened veteran of over a hundred battles. "We seek to correct your folly so you will live longer, fool boy. Not to embarrass and insult you. It is your foolishness which we must temper, you are a weapon, but we must forge you into something more than that."

"I..." Kiren began. "I o-"

Galen shifted his foot off of the young Astartes and stepped away from him as though to dismiss his behavior almost completely. He offers a hand to the young Astartes and waits for him to take hold of his hand. "You are forgiven. We are brothers, though we may fight and bicker... _we are brothers_."

Kiren takes Galen's hand after his seemingly unspoken apology and was lifted from the ground. He could feel the jovial atmosphere from Galen's usual radiance rushing out once more. A powerful slap to the back of his power-pack had sent him stumbling forward before Galen stepped further away and begun to speak over the long-range vox. While he relayed the results to both Imperial Command as well as the approaching Jainus, he turned his gaze towards Tyr who was fuming at the edge of the battlefield. It wasn't soon after he turned his gaze away and listened to the orders which came down.

Tyr, however had separated himself from the others. He held no taste to be around others at the moment. Instead his gaze was directed towards the hole which lay before him. Among the two other Astartes, he had seen much of war. Many within the chapter knew him by simply _The Immortal_. A nickname given to him by Galen, Jainus and the Good Captain. He was among the most skilled within the chapter, but that did not fill him with pride. No. His survival haunted him like the warp haunts a Psyker. Among his brothers, he often feels alone and apart for even he cannot confess everything which boils through his mind to his beloved Captain. Instead, he defers to the Chaplain which had mentored him when he was but a mere initiate. It was he who taught him how to do battle. How to fight his hardest at every moment.

He found himself further than he intended to be, his gaze catching sight of exposed pipelines within the wall. He could see the heat distortions whicht poured out of them and soon he came to wonder if they could be used. He shifted the grip of his boltgun to one hand as he continued to step away, milling about the Ork dead. He, in his stature, appeared every ounce the warrior that the chapter believed him to be. Yet, he soon came to still himself. Slowly, Tyr had noticed that the silence outside of the cacophony of artillery fire had become deafening. Normally, he would have ignored such things, but the Ork Waaaagh! Was far too large to become dormant.

Soon a shout cut his curiosity short, as his head snapped towards the direction. "Tyr!"

The veteran shifted his movement away from the hole and rushed towards his caller. Galen. The Devastator had taken his helm off, exposing the mangled face which belonged to him. A combination of both man and machine as half of Galen's face had been replaced with sturdy augmetics. It was not often he displayed his face bare unless there was important information to be heard. An age old habit of his, wishing for others to see his face so that they may know his joking nature had passed. His expression was... **solemn**. Tyr was motivated to a rare emotion that held a particular place within his beating hearts. _Concern_.

"What has happened, Galen." He asks, not certain if he wishes to know the answer. "What news do you bring?"

The look upon Galen's face spoke of only the most dire of circumstances. His gaze did not fade away from the burning red of Tyr's helm. He did not waver nor offer his trademark smile. He only offered a simple expression born of solemnness while rage lingered within his aged gaze. It wasn't soon after that Kiren arrived among the two veterans as well, exchanging glances with the two Astartes as he became aware of the situation.

He too inquires, fearing the answer which was to come. "What news do you bring, Brother-Galen?"

He speaks in a hushed tone, as if to avoid speaking too loudly that the Guardsmen might hear. He did not wish to panic others, that much was clear. "New foes have arrived on this world."

Tyr stepped forward and gripped Galen's shoulder. He speaks without hesitation. Without fear. "Speak their name and they shall be felled, Galen."

"The Tau have come." He stated with a calm and clear voice. "Though they are not the only ones, for the Necrons as well have arrived, though they've yet made landfall."

Kiren looked to Tyr as if taken aback by their arrival. "The Tau and Necrons? Were it not for the Orks we would meet them!"

Tyr nods but a moment after before he pauses in his answer. "That... that is not all?"

"No." Came the reply, this time belonging to the hulking form of a Dreadnought. Brother Sarrun had made it to the front, followed by Apothecary Jainus as well as the young Guardsmen whom had been accompanying the Apothecary for the past few days. "The Great. Enemy. Traitor Legions."


End file.
